


The Amazing Adventures of Hellison and Zomburg

by Caro Dee (Caro_Dee)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Animal (cat) harm, Gen, Horror, Humor, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-10-31
Updated: 2011-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-25 14:17:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caro_Dee/pseuds/Caro%20Dee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair just hasn't been the same since he came back from the dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Raised! The Origin Story of Hellison and Zomburg

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 10/31/05. I tried to write it for the Spook Me ficathon and couldn't finish it in time. I later wrote a time stamp which I'm including as epilog, as well as some extra scenes I ended up cutting. Mild horror and angst with sprinklings of humor. I tend to see this as not all that sad since they're still together but several readers have told me this story was very disturbing to them, so please take that into consideration.

It wasn't as though Jim hadn't noticed Blair's odd new behavior patterns, he just hadn't paid much attention to them. Still raw from the entire Alex fiasco, all he wanted was to get back to normal and pretend it hadn't happened. So when Blair changed -- taking cold showers, constantly reeking of the Tiger Balm he used for bruises, rushing around so much that he never had time to eat with Jim anymore, buying a walkman to play his tribal music all the damn time and ignoring Jim's complaints, unsympathetically telling him to dial it down - Jim shrugged it off, hoping it wasn't because Blair was tired of their friendship, and got on with life.

It wasn't until he came home one day and found Blair eating a cat over the kitchen sink that Jim finally recognized that something was terribly _wrong_ with his partner.

He stood there in the open doorway, frozen in horror, as Blair looked up, blood smeared all over his face, and said, in a frantically cheerful tone of voice, "Jim! You're home early."

Jim just gaped at him, mind blank, completely unable to say a word.

Blair looked down at the bloody, disemboweled cat in his hands. "I, uh, came across some boys tormenting a cat, so I chased them off. I thought I was going to take the cat to the vet, but... I came home and..." Blair looked back up at Jim with shamed eyes. "It was so alive, Jim. I couldn't resist."

Jim was vaguely aware that he was hyperventilating.

Blair tossed the cat's remains into the garbage and grabbed a paper towel to scrub his face. He looked down at the blood on the crumpled paper towel and whispered, "Oops. Messy eater. Sorry." His eyes were glued to Jim's face, body language screaming nervousness and fear of rejection.

Jim remembered Carolyn standing over that sink slowly eating a ripe peach, juice dribbling down her chin. She'd smiled and reached for the paper towels, but Jim had stopped her, playfully licking her chin while she laughingly protested and then kissing her. Her mouth tasted like peaches. She'd tossed the pit in the garbage with the same casual throw that Blair had. Jim's stomach churned. He didn't think that was going to be one of his happy memories any more.

He made it to the bathroom before he threw up.

He reached up to flush the toilet and rested his head against the seat rim. He could hear the kitchen tap running and then the rustle of the garbage bag as Blair lifted it up, tied it, and then carried it out to the dumpster. For a few precious minutes, he was alone in the loft. Jim could feel himself shaking, but he couldn't -- wouldn't -- let himself think about it. He'd have to deal with it soon enough.

The front door opened and Blair was back. Jim just sat there on the chill tiles, listening to the refrigerator door opening and the clink of glass. Then his reprieve was over as Blair hesitantly knocked on the bathroom door and said, quietly, "Jim? We should probably talk about this."

Jim pushed himself to his feet, went over to the sink and started brushing his teeth. Blair stood there on the other side of the door for a few seconds then walked away. Above the familiar sight of his briskly moving toothbrush, Jim's eyes in the mirror looked haunted. More than anything in the world, he wanted to not walk out there and face... Blair. But it didn't look like that was an option.

Spitting, rinsing, and drying his face and hands took some time, but eventually he was done. Taking a deep breath, Jim opened the door and walked out.

Blair was sitting on the couch, two beers on the table in front of him. "I thought we could use a drink," he said.

Jim stared at the half-empty bottle in front of Blair. He could smell the beer Blair had poured down the kitchen sink. He'd bet good money not a drop of what was left was going down Blair's throat. Carefully seating himself at the other end of the couch -- as far away from Blair as possible, his mind whispered -- Jim grabbed his own bottle and took one long swallow before firmly setting it down. Instincts were warning him not to make himself vulnerable, to be prepared to defend himself.

"So..." he said, grimly, "Tell me what the hell is going on here, Chief."

"You're not going to like it," Blair warned.

Jim just looked at him as if he was nuts. Not like it? Something bizarre was going on with Blair and he fucking _hated_ it.

Blair sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I'm dead, Jim."

Jim flinched. "No jokes, Sandburg."

"No joke. I died in the fountain."

Jim shook his head fiercely. No. "I brought you back."

"Yes, you did." Blair smiled warmly, the smile fading when Jim didn't respond. "But my body had been dead too long, Jim. It was at least half an hour before you found me."

"But I heard a heartbeat. I did," Jim insisted. "You were in the hospital. The doctors would have noticed if you were dead, Sandburg."

Blair nodded. "It was the last traces of my body remembering what it felt like to be alive. It lasted long enough to fool the doctors, but there was a reason I left the hospital so soon."

"It's not possible," Jim shook his head over and over."How can you be dead and be sitting here talking to me?"

Blair hesitated. "About that, Jim..."

Jim braced himself. He could tell he wasn't going to like this. "Just tell me."

"I researched it pretty thoroughly and couldn't find any medical condition to explain..." Blair paused. "You can hear that my heart isn't beating, right?"

Well, _now_ he could. He'd been pretty damned careful not to notice it before. Jim nodded reluctantly.

"So after I exhausted the medical possibilities, I branched out. The best explanation I can come up with that fits the facts is that..." Blair looked away and squirmed on the sofa. "... I think I'm a zombie, Jim."

"A zombie," Jim repeated flatly.

Blair made a pained face and ran his hands vigorously through his hair until it crackled with static. The gesture was so normal, so familiar, so _Blair_ , that Jim's heart ached. "There's some fairly credible eyewitness accounts of zombie-raising and a lot more hearsay in the literature. 'Everybody knows...' 'It happened to a friend of a friend.' But just because science can't confirm something doesn't mean it isn't true. It fits the facts. I died and rose again when you called me back. My heart doesn't beat, I don't need to breathe or eat. I'm not experiencing a lot of the instinctive behavioral drives that I did when I was alive. I _am_ feeling a strong need to obey you and that's pretty unnatural." Blair smiled weakly, then hesitated, eyeing Jim warily, before continuing. "There's the thing with the cat. The sense of aliveness and power in that cat; I was suddenly ravenous like I needed to get that life energy inside me. That's a fairly common trope in the movies."

"In the _movies?_ " Jim repeated, sarcastically. He firmly ignored the memory of all the gorey horror movies he used to watch when he was a kid. "Are you listening to yourself, Chief? You think you're a zombie because of some B-movies? This is ridiculous!" Suddenly furious, he stood up, stalked over to the balcony doors and stared out over the harbor, jaw muscles twitching like mad. Angry was good. Much better than being terrified. He turned back to glare at Blair. "There has to be a reasonable explanation. This kind of thing just doesn't happen!"

"It didn't just happen, Jim. You didn't want me to die, so... I didn't." Blair's voice was all too reasonable and grated on Jim's nerves.

"So you're saying this is _my_ fault? _I_ did this to you."

"Aw, no, man. It was totally my choice. I was all set to head off into the great unknown when I heard you calling me. I could have ignored you and gone on. I _chose_ to come back instead. It's not anybody's fault that I was too dead to come back all the way." Blair frowned. "If you need to blame someone, blame Alex for killing me."

The anger drained out of Jim, leaving him feeling empty. The fear came flooding back and, with it, the guilt. Alex killed Blair because he was alone and unprotected. Jim hadn't had to face that because Blair _hadn't_ died. Except that it turned out he had, after all. And now he was what he was, because Jim couldn't let him go, had called him back to... Jim imagined being stuck inside a walking corpse and shuddered.

Suddenly, he couldn't bear to be there. Not one more minute of this. Without looking at Blair anxiously watching him from the sofa, Jim said, "I'm going out. Alone. Don't wait up for me."

Then Jim went off to get rip-roaring drunk.

* * *

Jim lay in the dark alley and stared peacefully up at the stars twinkling in the tiny gap between the two buildings. He hurt everywhere and the justice of that pleased him a lot. It was too bad the alcohol was numbing the pain, but he'd definitely feel like shit tomorrow. The two guys he'd provoked into a fight had done a great job; he just hoped he hadn't hurt them too badly in return.

When familiar footsteps entered the alley, he wasn't even remotely surprised. "What are you doing here? I told you I wanted to be alone."

"Yeah well, you didn't say how long, so I waited an hour and came looking for you. I just knew you were going to do something stupid."

Jim found that hilarious. Wasn't that just like Blair? "Barracks lawyer," he snickered.

"Yeah, well, a good loophole is a thing of beauty." Cold hands pulled Jim up into a seated position. Jim leaned into the embrace, forehead resting on Blair's shoulder. He could smell the sharpness of the Tiger's Balm and the faint undertone of rotting flesh. He dialed his sense of smell down and closed his eyes. Better. He relaxed against the thing that was all that was left of his best friend.

"They really worked you over. Do you need to go to the hospital?"

"No," Jim mumbled, rubbing his forehead along Blair's shoulder. "Deserved it."

"Aw, Jim. You idiot." Blair laid his head against Jim's and rocked him gently.

Suddenly, the raucous group that had been passing by, turned into the alley. "Well, look what we have here, guys. A couple of fags!"

"Right in public too. Disgusting."

Jim briefly thought about getting up to face them and decided he was too sore and tired. Wasn't like they could hurt Blair any more. As for himself, a few good kicks and maybe he'd pass out. That would be nice. He relaxed.

Blair lifted his head and growled. The sound was deep and hollow and completely inhuman in its menace. Jim squeezed his eyes even tighter.

There were horrified gasps and the bashers moved back. "What the hell _are_ you?"

"Your worst nightmare." Gentle hands moved Jim back and then Blair was lurching to his feet.

He couldn't believe Blair had actually said that. Jim chortled and then caught his breath in a sob.

The ringleader apparently re-assessed the situation and quavered out, "Get--get away from him, you monster!"

"I like that. Bash the faggots but save the humans from the monsters. You've got balls, man." Blair's cheerful tone contrasted oddly with the harsh, gravelly voice. "You don't need to worry about him. I'd never harm a hair on his head." Suddenly menace filled his voice again. "I can't say the same about you though."

Blair must have done something because suddenly there were yells and the smell of urine, footsteps racing away and the terrible sound of Blair's laughter.

"What did you do?" Jim whispered, opening his eyes.

Blair crouched down, his voice back to normal. "I just showed them what I was. They didn't like it."

Jim moaned in despair.

"No, no, Jim," Blair's hands stroked Jim's back soothingly. "I didn't mean it that way. _You_ see my true self. That's why I love you and I stay. Because you see _me_. Those guys just saw the zombie and it spooked them. But not you."

"I didn't save you. I'm sorry, Sandburg. I'm so fucking sorry," Jim managed to choke out and then, to his horror, began crying. He lay there on the cold sidewalk at 12 a.m., in a dangerous section of Cascade, with his dead friend crouched over him, desperately crooning comfort in his ear, and wept his heart out.

Eventually, he stopped and Blair coaxed him into standing and putting an arm around Blair's shoulder. It was like being back in the army, getting soused and stumbling back to base with his pals. Blair was a pal. "Chief?"

"Yeah, Jim?" Blair said, while negotiating him around a street lamp.

"You were the best friend I ever had," Jim confided. He really, really needed Blair to know that.

Blair smiled lovingly at him. "I still am. Curb. Watch your step."

"Yeah," Jim said, slowly. "You are." Wasn't just anybody who'd come back from the dead for him. Buddy hadn't. All his teammates who'd died in combat hadn't. Jack hadn't. Tommy hadn't. Incacha ha-- except he sort of had, hadn't he? Lilah hadn't. He listed everybody out loud as he remembered them and Blair nodded along. Blair had. That counted. That definitely counted. He told Blair that too and Blair smiled again.

"Chief?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't think we should tell Simon about this. I don't think he can handle it. The sentinel stuff was a lot to deal with. I don't think he wants to know about this."

Blair stopped for a moment and looked up into Jim's face. He looked so sad that Jim made an involuntary sound of protest. Blair nodded. "Sure, Jim. We won't tell him. Not if you're sure he can't handle it."

"He can't handle it," Jim repeated. "But I can." I can, he realized in sudden surprise. Blair is my friend and I can handle this. I have to, because Blair's dead and he doesn't have anyone else. He needs me. The thought made him stand a little taller as he stumbled along next to his friend.

"That's good," Blair said quietly. "I'm really glad to hear that."

* * *

Waking up was agony. Not only did he have a Guinness Book hangover, but it felt like every square inch of his body was bruised. His dials had to be screwy; he couldn't possibly hurt this much.

Blair came stomping up the stairs and pulled the pillow off Jim's head. "Poor guy," he whispered, loud as a stereo blast. "Senses all out of whack, huh? C'mon, you can dial it down. That's it."

Gradually, the throbbing and the aching died down a little. Jim risked opening one eye to peer at Blair, who smiled encouragingly and held out a glass of water and three painkillers in a small bowl. Heaving himself up with a groan, Jim fumbled in the bowl for the pills and swallowed them.

"What's the bowl for?" he asked between gulps of water.

Blair winced. "I probably shouldn't touch food," he said. "Corpses are pretty unhygienic. I'm not sure if it's true in this case, but better safe than sorry."

Jim froze, remembering last night. The two men stared at each other in a stricken silence.

Blair was pale and silent, no background thrum of heartbeats, breathing and stomach rumbles. Jim's nostrils flared as he took in the ignored yet familiar faint scent of decay. 'How long before it gets worse?' he wondered. This was a dead man standing in front of him.

Finally, Blair sighed. "Look. If this is too weird for you, I don't have to stay. I can go back."

His reaction was immediate and instinctive, but Jim forced himself to ask calmly, "What do you want to do?"

"I'm here, aren't I? You needed me and I had to come back, Jim. Only..." Blair hesitated. "I'm not sure anymore that you want me here."

Blair was offering to go back to being dead just because Jim was freaking out a little. Okay, a lot. Understandably so, in Jim's opinion. Still, that didn't mean he wanted Blair _gone_. Blair had come back from the dead. For Jim.

Slowly, Jim reached up and knuckled Blair's head. 'His hair still feels the same,' he thought. Blair's reaction was a blinding smile, so very Blair that there was no longer any doubt in Jim's mind that it was really him.

"Stay," he said.

Blair nodded, still grinning. "Okay then."

"Okay," Jim agreed, finally smiling back. Still partners. He could deal with anything else. How hard could it be?


	2. The Death of Hellison, Zombie Master

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was never going to last forever.

The warehouse should have been deserted that late at night. There was absolutely no reason at all for a sniper to be there. Trap!

Two bullets slammed into Jim and his legs collapsed under him. Then Blair was there covering him, jerking as several bullets hit him that were meant for Jim. Blair howled in rage, hands searching Jim's body for wounds.

A door slammed and then the sound of a car taking off. No way to catch him now.

Jim looked up at Blair in the glare of the security lights. Blair's face was growing pale and sunken, eyeballs drying in darkened sockets, lips pulling back over yellowed teeth. He stared with fascinated hunger at the blood pouring from Jim's wounds. That was the look he gave the stray cats and dogs they supplemented Blair's diet with when Jim's own life force wasn't enough to keep him human-looking and intelligent. Of course, JIm realized, his life force was leaking out with his blood and along with it Blair's grasp on humanity.

Jim must have made some sound of horrified protest because Blair looked up into Jim's eyes and his mouth widened further into what might have been meant as a reassuring smile. "Don't be afraid, Jim. I know you're not food."

Not entirely comforted, Jim nodded. "Good to hear, Chief."

Blair grabbed him by the arms and tried to lift him despite Jim's agonized moan. Then he lowered him and growled in frustration, "I can't. I'm not strong enough now."

No trip to the emergency room courtesy of Blair's unnatural strength. They were stuck here until someone found them. He'd have to send Blair away then because he looked like nothing human anymore. "I guess we'll wait then."

Jim lay cradled in Blair's arms, slowly bleeding out, listening to the faint sounds of sirens getting closer. Still too far away. He tightened his grip on Blair's hand.

"Soon," Blair whispered.

Jim nodded and coughed, a wet, phlegmy rattling in his chest. "Thanks for staying with me," he said. "Not just this. I mean, thanks for all of it."

"I couldn't leave you, Jim." Blair's voice was losing strength but the deep loyalty and affection came through clear as a bell.

I've been so lucky, Jim thought. "My friend."

Blair nodded and rubbed his head against Jim's. "Always."

Jim looked up at the sky. He couldn't see the stars anymore. Everything was getting darker. He was so... "...tired."

Blair's voice was dry and faint as the rustle of grass in the wind. "Rest now, Jim. You did a good job."

Blair said it, so it must be true. With a sigh, Detective Jim Ellison of the Cascade Police Department, Sentinel of the Great City, laid down his burden and let go. The last thing he was aware of was a sudden overpowering stench of putrid decay. 'Blair,' he thought affectionately and died.

He was surrounded by oppressive darkness, all alone. "Blair!" he cried out into the void and floated, straining to hear, to see, to sense.

Finally...

"Jim! Over here, man!"

 _Blair._

The corpse of Jim Ellison smiled.

* * *

Simon Banks looked down at Jim's body and couldn't decide if the emotion he felt was more grief or despair. Grief, certainly, for a dear friend and a man Simon had had the utmost respect for, even though Jim had pulled further and further away from him over the past few years. But you couldn't look at a man smiling in the arms of what gave every appearance of being a corpse in an advanced state of decomposition and not feel despair and horror. Especially when that corpse was wearing clothes that Simon had seen Sandburg wearing last week.

What if a miracle wasn't a miracle? What lengths would a man go to cheat death? Simon shuddered at the thought. He wanted very, very much to believe that Jim would not go that far. One thing he did know was that he would be spending a lot of time in the coming months praying for the souls of Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg. "May God have mercy," he muttered.

He wiped a hand across his face and drew himself up. Grieving or not, he still had a job to do. "Listen up, people," he yelled. "We have an unknown killer or killers at large..."


	3. Cut Scenes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I killed my darlings and now they've risen and are vaguely shuffling around, moaning and dropping limbs.

[Cut scenes at the beginning]

It was about a week after they returned from Sierra Verde that Jim first noticed the faint smell of decay hanging around Blair.

"Jeez, Sandburg! What the hell did you step in?"

Blair looked up from the textbook he was reading and blinked in confusion.. "What?"

"It smells like something died in here. You must have tracked it in on your shoes." Jim sniffed ostentatiously. "Or rolled in it."

Blair's face went blank for a moment, then he smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, Jim. Look, I'll take a shower and change my clothes."

"Damn straight you will," Jim muttered, feeling annoyed yet mollified by the speed of Blair's response. He grabbed the TV remote and started channel surfing, stopped at a Vietnam War documentary and was completely engrossed in it by the time Blair emerged from the bathroom to disappear into his bedroom. He did notice in passing that Blair must have bruised himself badly at some point because he spent the next few days reeking of Tiger's Balm.

* * *

"Hey, Chief, think you could go stand downwind over there? Your, uh, aftershave's overpowering the crime scene."

"Really strong, huh?" Blair said, cheerfully. He frowned. "You're okay with it though? It should be sentinel safe."

Jim took a careful sniff. Sandalwood, lemon, and... something unusual. Jim mentally flipped through all the scents Blair had trained him to recognize. "Myrrh?" he guessed after a few moments.

"Yes!" Blair crowed. "You rock, man. It's a blend of essential oils I made up myself. But it's okay, right? You don't hate it?"

It was a pleasant enough scent, although there was a hint of something bitter underneath, but not so much that Jim was going to insist Blair not wear his precious new age... perfume. At least it wasn't sage. "It's fine. Maybe you shouldn't bathe in it though. Mind if I get back to work before Simon realizes we're exchanging grooming tips?"

Blair was still beaming. "Oh sure, no problem. I'll be right over there if you need me."

* * *

"Hurry up, Chief!" Jim banged on the bathroom door again. "We're running late."

The door opened and Blair staggered out without acknowledging Jim beyond a muttered, "Coffee?"

"Already made," Jim said. Closing the door behind him, he went over to turn on the shower and began adjusting the temperature. The heat of the water reassured him that for once Blair hadn't used the hot water up. Then he frowned and looked around. The bathroom wasn't all steamed up and the ambient room temperature was cool.

What the hell was Blair doing taking a cold shower?

When he asked Blair afterwards, Blair looked sheepish and admitted, "I met this really cute co-ed yesterday and, well, I woke up thinking about her... You were yelling at me to hurry up in the shower so... "

Jim laughed and shook his head. "Serves you right, Romeo!"

Blair just smiled and put the empty coffee mug he'd been holding in the sink.

* * *

"Isn't Sandburg coming?" Simon asked, as he and Jim stepped into the elevator.

Jim shrugged. "No, he had to get back to Rainier for a class."

"He hasn't gone to lunch with us in weeks. I'm starting to think I've offended him."

"He's just been busy lately. And he's on this weird fasting regimen that Naomi told him about. It's like every other day or something."

"Fasting? Are you sure that's healthy?" Simon asked.

"Sandburg says it is. In fact, he'll describe the effect on his colon in nauseating detail if I let him."

"My God," Simon groaned. "Remind me not to ask."

Both men snorted in laughter as the elevator door opened and they headed over to Simon's car. "Fat Jack's Barbecue sound okay to you, Jim?"

"Oh yeah," Jim agreed enthusiasticallly. "So long as Sandburg never finds out or I'll be hearing about the state of my colon for the next month."

Simon paused, key in the lock. "You know, Jim, my wife didn't have me as whipped as Sandburg has you. It's not natural."

"Shut up," Jim muttered. Simon didn't have to live with the kid. Blair meant well and sometimes it was just easier to give in. The lock clicked on his side and he climbed in. "Just drive. There's a slab of ribs calling my name."

"You can hear that from here? Amazing."

Jim grinned at the overdone look of awe on Simon's face. It was good to be spending time with Simon. He'd been eating alone a lot lately. Seemed like Blair was always on the run, having just eaten before Jim got home or picking something up on his way somewhere else. Still, busy as he was, he managed to be around when Jim needed him. Jim frowned thoughtfully. Maybe he ought to take Blair out for dinner or something to show his appreciation.

* * *

Stakeouts were boring. Jim frowned at the warehouse they were watching and yawned. The sound of Blair's scribbling was soothing and familiar. He was even getting used to Blair's new scent. Something tickled Jim's memory. "Why myrrh?" he asked, not really caring but desperate for conversation.

"Hmmm?"

"Sandalwood and lemon are common. Myrrh's kind of esoteric. Why'd you choose it?"

Blair grinned and stopped writing. "I'm an esoteric kind of guy. You hadn't noticed?"

"Not hardly," Jim said drily. "My experience is that you obfuscate like a champion, but when it comes to scientific knowledge, if you know it I'm gonna eventually hear _aaaaall_ about it. So cough it up."

"Maybe I just like the smell of it."

"Sandburg, I'm bored and we're stuck here for another three and a half hours. Humor me."

"Are you feeling all right?" Blair asked with mock concern. "You're actually _asking_ for one of my lectures?"

Jim was confused by the odd sense of reluctance he was picking up from Blair. "Sandburg!"

"Okay, okay. Sheesh!" Blair leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment, then began his spiel. "Myrrh's actually a resin from a tree that grows in Northern Africa and the Middle East. You've heard of the three kings with the gold, frankincese and myrrh, right? Sure, everybody knows that one, but myrrh has a long tradition of use in the ancient world, especially in China and Egypt. Mostly it got used as an incense or fragrance in perfume, but the Egyptians went particularly crazy for it because its preservative qualities played a big part in the embalming of mummies, and you know that remaining beautiful in the afterlife was..."

 _Embalming of mummies. Embalming of mummies._ The phrase rang in Jim's ear and he swallowed hard against the sudden queasiness in his stomach. He stopped listening to the words and concentrated on the sound of Blair's voice. There was something... there was something underneath the pleasant drone. An absence of familiar sound...

Movement at the entrance of the warehouse. Jim sat up and slapped Blair's arm to shut him up. "Get ready. They're coming out."

 

[Cut scenes from afterward. I originally intended to write a longer, plotty story about Blair's zombie nature and new strength to catch the bad guys and Jim learning to protect Blair's secrets instead of vice versa.]

***

[Corinna is the Santeria Priestess from the episode, The Trance. Jim and Blair have gone to consult with her.]

Corinna's eyes widened in horror. "He trapped your soul inside the dead body?" Her trembling hand rose up to cover her mouth as she stared at Blair.

"Stop it!" Blair said, sharply. "No one knew this would happen, least of all Jim. He's not responsible for this and I won't allow you to make him think so."

...

Corinna regarded him gravely. "Blair has convinced me that you are still the good man I thought you were." She lowered her voice and stepped closer. Blair was examining a shelf of candles with apparent interest and paying no attention to them. "Zombies do not last forever. You only have a certain amount of time with your... friend. Use it wisely."

Jim felt like he'd been kicked in the gut. "How long?" he gasped. He glanced over at Blair to find him looking back sadly. Blair _knew_. He'd known all along.

Corinna hesitated. "I don't know," she admitted. "To make a zombie is a black art, an evil thing against nature. Nature and the gods fight back. When it is done with love on both sides, who knows? Perhaps you have longer. But you must take care of him. Zombies have great strength and cannot be easily killed, but they do not heal and can be careless, not noticing that they have injured or even lost parts of themselves. Fire is a constant danger. They wear out quickly and the zombie maker must look for another body to raise."

All he could see were her beautiful brown eyes filled with a terrible understanding and pity. Turning, Jim fled the botanica.

* * *

The FBI agent heading the combined local task force droned on and on. Jim stifled a yawn. They didn't have any more new information since yesterday's meeting. This guy sure loved the sound of his own voice.

"Braaains," Blair murmured quietly. Jim casually reached over and whapped him on the back of the head. Blair looked mighty pleased with himself and Jim found himself smiling back. Simon glared at them both. It was almost like it used to be.

* * *

"You feeling alright, Sandburg?" Jim asked as they walked away from the eyewitness. The very attractive eyewitness. "You hardly flirted back there at all."

"Jim!" Blair exclaimed, in mock-horror. "I don't date outside my species." When Jim looked startled, Blair continued. "You know, the living, the dead. Necrophilia, man. She's so not my type."

"All right, Romeo," Jim joked heavily, not finding it all that funny but not wanting to disappoint Blair. "After work, we'll swing past a graveyard at midnight so you can work that ol' Sandburg charm on the residents."

"Oh boy." Blair rubbed his hands together briskly. "Not a lively group, but, who knows, maybe I can pick up a vampire chick. I hear they're pretty hot."

"After Iris, I would think you'd have had your fill of man-eaters," Jim pointed out drily.

"Ouch! Low blow, man." But Blair was smiling at Jim. "Besides, man-eaters are more your style."

It was Jim's turn to wince and acknowledge the hit. A flurry of mock-blows later, they both turned back to work, grinning.

* * *

[The ghost episode, The Waiting Room]

"Wish you could go with her, Sandburg?" Jim asked gently, his heart beating just a little faster. If Blair wanted to go, it wouldn't be fair to keep him here.

Blair gave him an 'are you nuts?' look and Jim felt his shoulders relax. "She was trapped and unable to move on. It's not my time. I'm not leaving a second before my time is up."

Jim privately thought that Blair's time had been up since the fountain, but thumbscrews couldn't make him say so. Jim might not stop Blair from leaving, but he sure wasn't going to hurry him along. Putting a hand firmly on Blair's back, he said, "Let's go home, partner."

* * *

Whenever Jim started to feel more tired than usual, he'd drive Blair out to some abandoned lot or small wooded area after dark and let him hunt feral cats. Jim would do his best to ignore the enraged and terrified yowls of the cats or the sudden silences in which he could hear soft moans and gnawing sounds. Eventually, Blair would come shambling out of the dark and Jim would use the handiwipes he'd brought to get the blood off Blair's face. He'd bag the bloody clothes while Blair changed. Then they'd drive silently home and Blair would take a cold shower while Jim put the clothes in the washing machine.

It was all very routine. The proper care and feeding of a zombie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my manic, over-plotbunnied brain, I had plans to continue this as a series where the Powers That Be raised them to fight evil. THE RETURN OF HELLISON AND ZOMBURG! HELLISON AND ZOMBURG RIDE AGAIN! HELLISON AND ZOMBURG MEET DRACULA! Yadda yadda. *g* It would have been fun.


End file.
